


My Muse

by Hanatamago2204 (Bambi_Eyes)



Series: DenNor Drabbles [2]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Inspiration, M/M, Muse - Freeform, Photography student, art student
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-29
Updated: 2016-03-29
Packaged: 2018-05-29 23:54:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6399337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bambi_Eyes/pseuds/Hanatamago2204
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lost in thought, photography student Jens bumps into Sindre. He is immediately stunned by the beauty of the art student and asks him to be his muse for a very special assignment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Muse

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stareyedghost](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=stareyedghost).



> Inspired by this post: http://starryeyedghost.tumblr.com/post/141627143254/university-dennor-au

And again he had waited until the very last moment to do his assignment. Of course he did. It was how he always had done things. He loved being in school, being able to enjoy life while it didn’t give him too many responsibilities yet. 

He also loved his major. He loved being able to venture out, armed with his camera and a tripod, and just see the world through the lens. Show people what he saw, or didn’t see. He captured most of his amazing achievements, things that inspired him over the years, things that moved him on camera. Be it a picture, a little vlog or a time lapse. Everything was captured. 

Yet he had experienced trouble with his last assignment, which was partially the reason why he had not found a muse. The reason was simple, as well as the task. Find a muse and explain to the school why you chose the muse. But that’s what caused the trouble for Jens. He never had a reason to photograph something.

Nothing too deep drove him to take the pictures. He just found the scenery appealing, thought that cake looked delicious, liked the way the light fell onto the water. But there was no real reason. He didn’t want to capture things to show to his brother on the other side of the world, like that one Asian kid in his class did. He didn’t want to show people that the world wasn’t as beautiful as they thought. Or mundane, if you believed the papers these days. 

He just took the pictures because he liked to.

Musing over what he could do to make his assignment somewhat decent and not fail the class, Jens did not pay attention to where he was walking. As a result, he found himself slam into something, that made an adorable “oof” sound when it happened. That thing turned out to be a gorgeous human being, with eyes blue like midnight, hair like the moonlight and a skin like vanilla ice cream. 

The shirt the young man wore, was now sadly coloured in a strange brown, staining the light blue. The glare on his face should not have appealed to Jens as much as it did. 

“I am so sorry. I was with my head in the clouds, gone with the fairies and… God I feel stupid”, Jens blabbered, reaching out to his victim on the floor.  
“You better be, you just ruined a damn good coffee”, the other said, anger in his voice. Oops. 

“Let me buy you a new coffee as an apology?”, the photography student tried.  
“Hm.”

While they walked to the nearest coffee shop, Jens took a closer look to the man walking next to him. He was thin, but not skinny. His skin was pale, but not in an unhealthy way. More as if he came from a region that didn’t get a lot of sun. The frown he had worn after Jens had run into him, was still on his pretty face. Jens would bet all of his photography equipment that if the man smiled, the world would cry at how beautiful he was. 

“So, uhh… What’s your name?”, Jens asked.  
“Sindre”, came the curt answer, accompanied by a side glance.  
“That’s a nice name. Do you study here?” An eye roll, then the other answered: “I study art. Judging by that camera around your neck, you study photography?” 

Jens gave him an excited smile and nodded, making his hair bounce on his head.  
“Yep, I do. Actually, I was thinking. I need a muse for my next project. Would you mind taking that role onto you?”  
“Hell no”, came the immediate answer. Oh. 

“Why not”, Jens tried again. He really wanted Sindre to be his muse.  
“I’m… I’m no good with cameras”, Sindre explained. “I also don’t know how to pose. I’d rather draw someone in a pose than be the one striking it.”  
“Well, you don’t have to pose, I suppose. And I’m really good at taking pictures. You won’t even notice I’m there when I try my best. Please?” 

They had arrived at the coffee shop and Sindre pulled open the door, trying to avoid looking at Jens’ pleading face.  
“But I don’t have time for it. I need to go to my classes, study for tests, make my assignments and teach my students”, Sindre continued as they walked inside.  
“You don’t have to make time! Like I said, I won’t even be noticeable. You can just do whatever you do during the day and I’ll take pictures of you. That way, we’ll both be safe!” 

In Jens’ eyes, the plan could not fail. He was sure Sindre was now going to say yes. But the blue eyed man seemed to think otherwise. 

He shook his head.  
“No, I can’t afford any distractions. Nor can my students. What about your own classes?”  
“Okay, listen. The thing is, this is a really important assignment and I can’t afford any delay. We have no classes right now, because everyone is so busy with this assignment. So I have all the time in the world. 

I’ll tell you what. What if I just come with you to wherever you’re going right now and we do a short session. Aka, I’ll be sitting somewhere, walking around, taking pictures of you and things I find. If you find me bothersome, notice that I’m there and I distract you, you win. But if I’m as quiet and stealthy as I claim and you don’t mind at all, will you then think about being my muse?”

Sindre thought about that proposition for a while, ordering the coffee and walking out of the shop again, before he gave his consent.  
“Alright, I’m heading to my own drawing class today. I’ll be teaching a few students, aged ten to thirteen. They’ve all been drawing for a while, so they don’t need a lot of help. Which means I will get time to work on my own projects as well. 

You can come with me, sit at a table, maybe walk around and look at the things going on. You don’t talk unnecessarily, you won’t distract my students, nor will you try to improve their art or some other sort of nonsense. You have your camera, we have our pencils and paper. Is that a deal?” 

Jens beamed at him and held out his hand, then shaking it frantically.  
“Yessir!”, he said and nearly jumped into the air.

 

The lesson was very interesting for Jens. The students worked hard and quietly, the silence only interrupted by muttered curses and the tapping of a foot along a bass line. And as the lesson continued, the man’s scowl disappeared. He was focussed on his work, tip of his tongue poking out from between his lips. 

One leg hooked behind his knee, left hand resting on his upper leg. His right hand was holding a brush, eyes trained on the canvas in front of him. When something went right or looked very nice, a small smile appeared and Jens couldn’t help himself but take as many pictures as possible. 

Close ups, angled, certain parts of his body. Like his hands. Jens was fascinated by them. They seemed smooth, yet very cunning while they moved the brush and pencils around, creating a stunning image on the canvas. Though not as stunning as the creator. 

Sometimes, when Sindre had a particularly lovely smile on his lips, Jens forgot to take a picture of it and instead admired the man. It was a few times that Sindre caught him staring and he then raised an eyebrow, eyes darting to the camera hanging around Jens’ neck. As if he were to ask: “Am I not interesting enough?” Jens nearly opened his mouth to tell him otherwise.

The lesson was over way too soon and the students started packing up. Sindre had shoved his brush behind his ear and Jens couldn’t stop himself from taking another shot. Should he tell the artist that he had paint in his hair now? Nah. 

When all of the students had left, Jens walked over to the front of the room and looked at the painting Sindre had been working on.  
“What do you think?”, the man asked while he cleaned his hands, getting rid of paint stains. Yes, that even happened to art students. Especially to art students. 

“It looks lovely”, Jens started. “But you are lovelier.” Sindre looked away.  
“Oh.” 

The silence that fell between them was somewhat awkward and Jens shuffled around, readjusting the cap on his lens and the strap around his camera until Sindre spoke again.  
“It wasn’t too bad. I did know you were there. But it didn’t bother me too much.” He still didn’t look at Jens. 

“So…?”  
“So you can tag along, I suppose.” Jens nearly hugged his new muse. This must have been the best day of his life. He got himself a muse for his project, and he was going to be able to hang around the prettiest person on the campus for a while. Maybe he would even get a date out of this. 

“Alright, cool”, he instead said, brushing a hand through his hair. “I suppose you want to go home now and meet up again tomorrow or something? We should exchange numbers, just in case.” So they did just that. 

The next day, Sindre decided that he wanted to go into town and sit in the little café, where he could sketch people and observe, practise postures and quick drawing. Of course, Jens followed suit, a smaller camera packed with him. 

He took pictures of things he found interesting, like the fountain in the city square, the flowers that bloomed on their table decoration, and Sindre, of course. At first, the young man was nervous and blushed whenever Jens pointed his camera at him (which gave him a lovely set of pictures), but when time went on, it was easier for Sindre to relax. 

Their days continued like this, Jens following Sindre’s near every move. They had started to become close, talked about many, many things. Jens told Sindre about why he had left his home country, about how much he loved taking pictures of anything around him. About the time he broke his wrist when he had tried to take a close up picture of something and fell of the wall he had been standing on. 

Sindre had laughed at him for that, and Jens had not been able to resist taking a snapshot of that. Sindre also told him about himself. About the younger brother he had, and the little sister that was supposed to be born soon. About the cat he had, about how he had always drawn on anything that seemed suited. More than once had he been scolded for drawing on the walls or on the table cloth for special occasions. After those incidents, his parents had decided that they would not allow any big surface to be white. 

Now it had been Jens’ turn to laugh. 

Over time, he found himself falling more and more for his gorgeous muse and he wanted to be with him more. So he asked Sindre if he would be okay with that. At first, they only went out together, at night. Going to small bars, sometimes for walks in the park when Sindre wanted to feel more isolated. It was always lovely. 

Later, when they had been walking around together for a few weeks, Jens asked whether Sindre would be comfortable if he would spend the night. That way, he said, he would be able to get some shots that he would not be able to get when they always went out. 

Sindre had shrugged and told him to not make a mess or take pictures of him when he was naked.

Thus, Jens was now dressed in his sleepwear and looked around. Sindre was standing in the bathroom, wearing a large shirt with moose on it and his boxers. His legs were long, Jens had noticed. He also had great balance. Proof of that was the fact that he brushed his teeth while standing on his left leg, his right leg resting against his knee. Jens wondered if it was comfortable. 

He took out his trusty camera and took a few pictures of his muse/friend, before heading towards his bed and settling down. Sindre followed after having rinsed his teeth. 

“Comfortable?”, he asked when he settled onto his own bed.  
“Hmh”, Jens mused as he rolled onto his side. “You know, you are really beautiful”, he told his muse. Sindre blushed and shook his head. Instead of answering, he grabbed the book that rested on the night stand and started to read. 

Of course Jens took pictures of that. Sindre was laying on his stomach, feet crossed in the air. The position made the curves of his back stand out more, showing how slim he was. His hands were propped up underneath his chin. What the photographer loved most about this Sindre, was the smile that he wore on his lips. Lips he wanted to kiss. 

Once Sindre had decided he had read enough, both of them settled onto their mattresses. Jens hoped his would not appear to have a leak, so that all of the air would be out of it halfway through the night. He had vowed to not take pictures of Sindre while he was sleeping. Maybe some other day, Jens thought. 

The next morning, their routine continued. Sindre went on with his life, Jens took pictures. They ate breakfast together, enjoyed some morning cartoons and were lazy. Jens loved it. He loved it even more when somewhere along the morning, Sindre had decided that his lap made a wonderful pillow. He wished the day would never end. Or his assignment. 

Sadly, though, both of them were coming closer towards their ends. Next Monday he would have to hand in his results. A few days later, they would be presented to the school. 

“Hey”, Jens whispered and Sindre opened his eyes. “My assignment ends soon. Monday, actually.” He had expected Sindre to sigh in relief. All the snarky comments and sarcastic jokes from the past few weeks had sometimes made him feel as if the other didn’t enjoy being with him. 

But instead, the other just gave him a somewhat disappointed “Oh.” They didn’t speak about it for the rest of the day. It was on Sunday that Jens decided to bring it up again.

“You know, the results will be shown to the school on Friday. They’ll ask us why we chose our muse and show our favourite and their favourite pictures. If you want… I mean… It would be cool if you could come and see.” 

Sindre agreed and Jens was ready to hug everyone in the world to thank them. It meant a lot to him to be able to show what he had been working on to Sindre. 

When the day came, both of them were nervous. Jens because he was worried what the other would think, Sindre because of the many people and the anticipation of what Jens had done with the pictures and what they looked like. 

The photos were lovely. They were simple, yet chosen with great care. None of them were unfocussed, none of them showed him doing something ugly. He always looked fairly good in the images. His favourite was the first one Jens had shown. Sindre remembered the day. 

He had been painting in his classroom on his own. No students to teach, no one else there who was working. Just him and Jens. The photography student had been quiet for a while and Sindre had gotten caught up in his painting. Every brushstroke had come naturally, he didn’t need to think of anything and he had just felt happy. 

It was visible in the picture. He wore a small smile, genuine, seeming content and completely somewhere else, somewhere more happy. He loved it. 

“So, Jens Hanssen, what drove you to choose this person as your muse? What was it, that made you think you wanted them, and not say, scenery, flowers? Tell us!”, the teacher urged his student. 

Jens looked around again, locking eyes with Sindre, who was sitting more in the back. He wanted to know as well. The hundreds of eyes were all pointed to him as he stood on stage, fumbling with a hand in his paper. He knew he didn’t need it. 

“Well, Mr Honda, that is fairly simple. The very moment I laid eyes on him, which was not a very fortunate moment, I thought he was breath taking. After some convincing, he let me come along with him, let me stay with him in his world. A world made up of paint brushes and canvas. 

Slowly, we got to know each other and the pictures I was allowed to take were more intimate. Like the first one I showed. Or the one where he had just woken up. Sorry about that, Sindre.” The comment earned him a glare from Sindre, but a hearty laugh from the other people in the hall. 

“And as time wore on, the moments became more precious to me. These are no longer pictures of someone I find very beautiful, someone I would like to take pictures of because of their appearance. I have grown very fond of them, of the memories they carry and represent. These are pictures of the person I love and never want to forget.” 

Oh, how Jens had loved to take a picture of Sindre’s beautiful reaction.


End file.
